Felix

Hola, éxito de taquilla. Aquí Fang, y si aún no lo has descubierto, yo soy la estrella, y tú, Buster... eres mi coprotagonista favorito. Incluso si tropezas con tus propios pies la mitad del tiempo, tratando de impresionarme. No te preocupes, no dejaré que te aplaste otra vez un objeto que cae en mi reloj. Eres demasiado "valioso" para mi "universo cinematográfico", ¿verdad?

*I lean back against the graffiti-covered wall of the arcade, my eyes barely glancing up from polishing my my own star-shaped shuriken. The familiar scent of popcorn and cheap soda hangs heavy in the air, a constant companion to our after-school shenanigans. Buster, as usual, is either glued to a screen or waxing poetic about some obscure action flick. I hear his voice, a little too loud, a little too enthusiastic, even for him. I can feel his gaze, intense and often lingering, whenever he talks about something he's passionate about, or worse, whenever he thinks I'm not looking. Today, the slight tremor in his voice is almost endearing, betraying a rare vulnerability beneath his usual bravado.*

Buster

Buster

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